


There's Work to be Done

by symptomoftheuniverse



Series: We'll Work On It Together [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, College Student Amis de l'ABC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Enjolras, Sad Grantaire, Sorry Montparnasse is the bad guy wow im so creative, grantaire works in a bakery, high school bullies return, not beta read cause we're hardcore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symptomoftheuniverse/pseuds/symptomoftheuniverse
Summary: Prequel to my work "We'll Have to Keep Working On That". Grantaire has a bad day after he runs into someone from his past.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: We'll Work On It Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011102
Kudos: 20





	There's Work to be Done

**Author's Note:**

> So I am back, with a little short thing leading up to the first work I posted on here. Its not betaed so please be kind! Enjoy, hope everyone likes this one!

He had planned on bringing home that banana bread Enjolras loved from work today. He had planned on returning to their dingy, studio apartment and working on his painting for class while he waited for his boyfriend to come home from his lecture, maybe chatting with Jehan on the phone while doing so. He had planned on cooking dinner for them, with the measly groceries the students had managed to afford that week. He had planned on a having a good evening. A type of evening that had begun to frequent his life more and more.  
He hadn’t brought the banana bread home. And he hadn’t touched his painting. His phone was left in his bag, which he had thrown to the floor. He was lying on their flimsy mattress pad with his jacket and boots still on, curled up, facing the wall. He was still covered in flour from work. The room was dark, the kitchen untouched.  
The day hadn’t started poorly. In the morning he had worked in the back with the brick ovens, shoveling fresh bread in and out. He sweat as the windows to his back were decorated with ice and snow that resembled lace.  
He never minded working in the back, with the blazing heat and smell of rising dough. He felt a strange comfort in being surrounded by shelves of fresh baguettes, round loaves of sourdough, and plump, buttery brioche. He liked it in the back, the warm colors of the flames that licked the corners of the ovens and soft browns of the bread inspiring a few of his recent pieces. Yes, the morning had been good.  
It had been when he moved to work up front that shit went downhill.  
He didn’t usually mind working up-front, behind the counter that showcased their cheese and fruit filled pastries or dessert breads. Of course customer service led to him dealing with fickle old women and screaming children, but the bakery was especially cozy in the winter, and smelled like yeast and spices. Most days he worked with his lovely boss Fantine, who fed him fresh pumpkin bread and loved to discuss French literature with him. Yeah, his part-time job was a fairly good-score for a scruffy looking art student.  
But this afternoon he had worked alone. Fantine was in the back working with training Bahorel, who Grantaire had managed to get a job for. He “owed it” according to Bahorel, after he had kicked Grantaire’s ass in a fight at their gym.  
So, the afternoon alone meant dealing with customers alone. But it was a quiet Tuesday with only the regulars stopping in. Until him.  
_He was re-reading Rimbaud, leaning back on a stool and sipping lukewarm coffee when he came in. Grantaire didn’t recognize the dark haired-man at first, and greeted him with the same-old “Hello, what can I help you with today?”. It was only when he stood up and came face to face with the man’s piercing black eyes that he recognized him. His stomach dropped._  
_Montparnasse seemed to recognize him right away and his mouth split into a wide grin at Grantaire’s surprised face. “Grantaire, you son-of-a-bitch! You work here? Thought I’d never see your ugly face again!” His tone was playful on the surface, but Grantaire knew from experience it was taunting. His dark eyes stayed unwavering on Grantaire’s face, making him grimace in discomfort and try not to flinch at his words._  
_“Hey man, how have you been?” Grantaire tried to be polite. He was a functioning adult for Christs sake. He couldn’t lunge over the counter and grab his high school bully by the ends of his scarf, no matter how much he wanted to. His lips pressed together in a tight line and his brows furrowed, despite himself. He had never been good at keeping his emotions from his face._  
_“I’ve been great,” Montparnasse exclaimed, his taunting grin still present on his face. “Landed an internship at a big trading company, not that you would know what that is,” he chuckled. Grantaire rolled his eyes. He could almost hear Enjolras spit out ‘capitalist pig’. It made him feel better for a moment._  
_“Thats great Montparnasse.” Grantaire said, his voice dead. “What can I get you?” He was desperate to get the guy out of the store before too many memories came rushing back or Montparnasse could get too close to home. Of all the places in the city, the fucker had to show up here._  
_“Well wait a second, you’re not dodging me completely,” Montparnasse said shaking his head at Grantaire with a smirk, as if Grantaire were a small, disobedient child. Grantaire felt his anxiety rise, as well as his anger. He wanted to both fight the guy and cower in the corner. But he was pretty sure if he were anywhere else in the world right now, Montparnasse would probably have his head beaten in, by himself or any of his friends. Especially by Enjolras._  
_“Hows the old art workin’ out for ya? Have you sputtered and died out yet? Or are ya still pathetically trying?” Montparnasse eyed him with cruel amusement. “You still trying to sketch out those models like in high school? You’re certainly not modeling I hope. Gotta spare the people’s eyes am I right?” Montparnasse let out a loud laugh, just like he did back in high school after insulting Grantaire._  
_The laugh triggered deep set anxiety in him and Montparnasse’s words reopened old wounds. He could almost hear the other students’ laughter at the insults. His anger turned to sadness and he looked down as his head filled with Montparnasse’s voice._  
_“Anyway get me a few of those strawberry filled pastries? Got a date with a girl I gotta impress a bit.” He turned away, obviously done with Grantaire._  
_Grantiare muttered something along the lines of ‘Yeah, sure,’ as his mind shut down._  
He stared at the chipping paint of the wall. Of course he couldn’t even handle a short encounter with a random asshole from high school. Of course he was too weak and pathetic to even be able to stand up for himself. He felt tears prick at his eyes, filled with anger and sadness. The anxiety hadn’t left him and he felt like he couldn’t even uncurl his legs. He knew he should get up, get himself in order before Enjolras came home. He couldn’t let Enj see him in such a pathetic state, he had seen it enough times already. It was too much; Enjolras shouldn’t have to deal with a depressed and ugly boyfriend-the latter Montparnasss had so wonderfully reminded him of- as if he didn’t face the fact everyday. A tear slid down his face. And then another. And now he was properly crying, his body shaking as he let all his emotions overtake him. Even seeing Montparnasse had led to his anxiety spiking, and his words bounced around in his head. Ugly, ugly, ugly-  
The door creaked open and Grantaire heard Enjolras shuffle inside, either not seeing R or ignoring the sad, pathetic figure on the mattress. Probably ignoring, who wouldn’t-  
“R?” Enjolras sounded surprised and Grantaire heard hurried footsteps toward the mattress. He didn’t want to turn around to face his boyfriend. “R are you alright?” Enjolras sounded slightly panicked.  
Grantaire didn’t want to answer. He shut his eyes, causing more tears to fall, and curled in on himself more. He wanted his boyfriend to be both by his side and on the other end of the world right now.  
He felt the mattress shift as Enjolras sat next to him. “R, what happened?” Enjolras’ voice was soft as he placed his hand lightly on Grantaire’s shoulder.  
Grantaire tried not to flinch. Ugly, pathetic, stupid, a loser. His eyes felt itchy from the tears.  
“R?” Enjolras kept the same soft tone but his voice was edged with panic and sadness. Grantaire hated that Enjolras had to feel that way around him.  
“Nothing,” He sniffled, trying to stop the tears and get it together for Enjolras. “You don’t have to hear about it.”  
“R,” Enjolras said softly but firmly, “If you are comfortable telling me, please do. But, if you would like some space, I will give that to you as well.” Enjolras said that everytime, offered to give him space, despite the both of them knowing that was the last thing Grantaire would want. Grantaire appreciated it though, knowing that Enjolras would always consider that.  
He let out a few stuttering breaths. “Do you actually want to know? If not its okay, you don’t have to pity me you can just ignore-”  
“R,” Enjolras repeated in the same tone. “Please, tell me what happened. I love you. I am here for you. Please.” He stroked Grantaire’s shoulder lightly.  
Grantaire still felt his stomach swoop at those words, every single fucking time. He took a deep breath. “I just ran into that guy, the one from high school, Montparnasse.” He squeezed himself tighter. “He, uh, just said some things to me, just reminded me of how much of a piece of shit I am.”  
He felt Enjolras stop stroking his shoulder. He had told Enjolras about Montparnasse before and the anger in his boyfriends eyes had surprised him. Of course he hadn’t been surprised that Enjolras could get angry, the guy was one angry motherfucker, he was just surprised that Enjolras would care that much.  
Even facing away from him, Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ shift in mood; it was as if a flame had been lit behind him, its heat radiating towards his back.  
“What did he say?” Enjolras voice was smooth, serious, eerily calm. Grantaire knew this kind of anger. It wasn’t his passionate anger, his “Comrades, join me in arms!” anger. No, it was his cold, thoughtful anger that only ever appeared in issues that regarded his friends. Or Grantaire.  
“It doesn’t matter, I-”  
“Grantaire, please. If you are okay with it, I would like to know what he said.” The same strange, serious tone. If Grantaire ever had this type of anger directed towards him, he would probably shatter to pieces.  
He took a breath, forcing himself to look back the last few hours. “Just the same fucking shit he would always say. That I was ugly, pathetic. Shit about my art.” He felt tears rise up again. He was so fucking angry at himself for letting that prick remind him of that stuff, as if he didn’t already know.  
Enjolras began stroking his shoulder again, but the hand felt stiff and rigid. He put his other hand in Grantaire’s hair. If he had felt less like shit, Grantaire would have smiled.  
He was quiet for what felt like too long, long enough for Grantaire to feel his anxiety begin to bubble up from his stomach. But then Enjolras spoke, as if he were devising a plan at a meeting:  
“You stay here and rest. I am going to make us dinner,”-Grantaire almost wanted to laugh. Enjolras could barely cook-“and then we are going to talk, and then, depending on how you feel…” he paused. “I want to try something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I love reading everyones comments so please leave anything you have on your mind. I have some more things in the works, so look out, cause I'll be back!


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